


The One With The Flashback

by WhoreOfPromethea



Series: A Clone And An Irwin Walk Into A Bar [4]
Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Angst, Exposition for expositions sake, F/M, Gen, shaun in his feels again, very much so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoreOfPromethea/pseuds/WhoreOfPromethea
Summary: Shaun wakes early and ponders his own mental state.





	The One With The Flashback

My still-fucked brain hasn’t seemed to have gotten the message. A living, breathing George hasn’t taken my nightmares away. I don’t hear her as a voice in my head as often anymore, but I’d probably still classify myself as crazy. 

I’m pretty sure George would rather I saw someone, or at least spoke to someone. ‘Someone’ being a shrink of some kind. Maybe we both thought it might benefit me, just a bit. Saying that, I wasn’t too fond of the idea after the idiotic suggestions of the last shrink. No thanks. 

I did want the nightmares to stop, though. But hell, if I didn’t have nightmares about losing George, I had plenty of other dead friends to dream about. Dave. Becks. Buffy. The list went on. 

The sun wasn’t up yet, but I was awake. Yesterday’s coffee was still in the pot, still warm thanks to the inbuilt heater. Being left overnight had made it slightly too thick and definitely a lot more bitter than it should have been, but it was hot caffeine, so I didn’t care. 

I was sitting on the bed, next to George, who was, thankfully, still asleep. She had her own bad dreams to contend with. I wasn’t going to burden her with mine when I didn’t need to. 

Still, the physical presence of her helped a lot. I’d managed to calm down pretty quickly, which was nice. If I was stuck with the night terrors, I’d take them as briefly as possible, thank you very much. 

If I wasn’t careful, I’d scare myself into thinking we were still back in the old house in Berkeley. That we were still in a hotel of some sort, rather than our own place in the middle of Canada. 

When we’d said we wanted to move out, this probably wasn’t what we’d had in mind. Whatever. It was ours, and it was secure, so I didn’t care a damn what the Shaun from before the Ryman campaign would have preferred to live in. 

The house was small, and boxy, with one of the best security systems in the world, but it was ours. Functionally it did its job, even if it looked ugly and nondescript from the outside. Hell, we kind of wanted to fit in around here. 

How many times was I going to see the original George die in my dreams, though? How many more flashbacks would I endure before my brain finally got the message? 

If I said any of this to her, though, she’d laugh, a bitter laugh, and remind me that happily ever after is a fictional concept. We were a clone and a crazy Irwin, hiding out from our old lives and trying to start over. It was never going to have been easy. Then again, I’d never expected to find a clone of George and end up living in Canada with her, either. I’d expected to shoot some fuckers, then myself, bam, end of story. Now that I had the opposite to that ending, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. 

Dr Abbey had said she could put me in touch with a reliable shrink. One of her array of odd friends, no doubt, but while the Good Doc was crazy, and dangerous, she was undoubtedly a friend. I didn’t think she’d fuck me over, especially with something like mental health. A live immune person was much better than a dead, or even crazier person. 

I toyed with the nondescript business card on my bedside table; it had arrived with the last care package in one of the secure drop boxes. I wouldn’t have known it was a way to contact her, save for the octopus reference. 

I’d wait for George to wake up, get her opinion, and then I would call. It seemed impolite to call upon an ally so early in the morning, particularly when said ally was of the mad scientist variant. I didn’t want her to send me a box of live hornets or something for pissing her off. 

It could wait, but perhaps my need for help couldn’t anymore. Not if I wanted to proceed to have a decent life with George.


End file.
